


a mess to follow

by edgeoftown



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (that's a spoiler i guess), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, a mess, basically just watch out, fuck idk what to tag this, those are tags!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeoftown/pseuds/edgeoftown
Summary: neil josten ceases to be before the end of high school, the rest of the world does not. (or, nathaniel wesninski does not shut down after his mother's death)





	

**Author's Note:**

> listen this is weird i know. i just thought it was a cool concept i guess. be aware going into this that its dark, and not particularly gay
> 
> (also the title makes no sense but it is just like a bastardization of lyrics from a daughter song i listened to while writing this so)
> 
> find me on tumblr at rohseate.tumblr.com if u wanna tell me i'm stupid i'd love that

mary hatford dies in california, and stefan deals with it the way the son of the butcher of baltimore should. in flames.

he becomes neil josten on the border between arizona and california, and settles down in millport. coach hernandez of the exy team knows him by name though neil isn’t on the team nor in his gym class. he says _i see you have a passion for this neil, don’t be afraid to join the team, there’s always room_ each time he gets neil alone. he stands it until april, when he drops out. it’s not a surprising thing for a small town in arizona.

* * *

 out of view of the cameras and the audience and the foxes, riko presses the knuckle of his pointer finger into the two on kevin’s cheek, says “it’s time to come home brother, don’t you think?”

_(number seventeen yells ‘two!’ and launches the ball off the court ceiling into kevin’s net. the clock reads 0:05.)_

kevin grits his teeth together, presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, fuck it for betraying him right now. his chest heaves with the breath he wants to use to say no. he wants to say fuck you.

he can’t say it.

_(the opposing teams goalie tilts toward where riko’s standing. if kevin fired they’d win by more than half. he can throw the ball to riko from two, maybe three angles. he can make the goal from five. the clock reads 0:03. the floor shakes with the force of the raven’s fans chants, or his heartbeat.)_

riko smiles at him, relaxes his hand until it cups kevin’s cheek, something like tender. “i’m glad you hand has healed kevin.” kevin flinches and pulls his left hand up to his chest.

riko pulls an envelope from jean’s outstretched hand, tucks it against kevin’s chest where his hands are cradled together. his eyes trace the scars crisscrossed across the back of his hand, down to just above his wrist where riko’s racket or bone had broken skin.

“you’ve really made a miraculous recovery. we’re all proud of your dedication to the sport, and your family.”

it is both a reminder of who he really is, and a threat at the family he ran to.

_(kevin makes the shot._

_the goal lights up the same red that three days later drips on wymack’s doorstep.)_

“i don’t like people touching my things riko.” andrew, grin splitting his face and with the gentleness of a knife rips the papers from kevin’s limp grasp, putting himself between kevin and riko. riko doesn’t spare him more than a glance.

“remember who you truly belong to kevin.”

_(RAVEN PRINCE, KEVIN DAY, READY TO TAKE THE CROWN. - Sports Weekly_

_let’s all be real here @kevinday2 is the real #1 @rikomoriyama time to step down “king”_

_YAAASSS MY BOY DID IT @kevinday2 JUST GOT NAMED BEST STRIKER IN CLASS I EXY!!!!!! LOOKS AND GAME ON POINT YES BAE_

_riko throws his phone against the wall, cracks across the glass an inspiration.)_

riko walks away before andrew has a chance to unsheathe his knife, and anger flickers briefly through his constant cheery expression, whether it’s at the interaction, or at simply not being able to stab riko no one is sure. he turns to kevin when jean and riko have rounded the corner, and the foxes have otherwise distracted themselves. in one hand he holds the envelope and a knife in the other.

“you’ve got mail!” he sounds it out like a computer notification.

kevin reaches out with shaking hands, he has an idea what’s inside.

_(jean’s hands pin his left arm to the ground, his whole upper body weight leaned on his bicep hard enough to cut off blood flow. seven, eight and nine hold down the rest of him. when riko brings his racket down on kevin’s hand he realizes jean’s whole weight couldn’t numb him from the pain.)_

* * *

 one week later, two weeks less than the amount of time riko had allowed kevin, andrew and him are at edgar allen. kevin still isn’t sure how andrew let aaron go, and he’s not really sure he cares enough to find out. the foxes fall below the necessary number of players to continue in the league and palmetto state loses its exy team for the next two years. locked back in darkness kevin whispers to riko, _it was the only outcome for a team like that._

a week later, during a private practice with his mock brother kevin shoots at the goal with his left hand and misses by almost two feet. riko gives him a pat on the back and says “you’ve learned a lot since i last saw you brother.”

two weeks after that finds andrew with a sharp four tattooed into his cheekbone, right under his eye. his gaze doesn’t stray from kevin, or soften from an icy glare for the duration of the process. kevin is terrified by how the number suits andrew, and what that means for him.

three days later andrew is locked into the farthest room of the raven’s nest with his last dose of medication.

and kevin finds he can not fulfill his promise to the man who kept good on his. 

* * *

neil moves to mexico, where his darker skin and curly hair finally let him blend in. he has dark hair still, with highlights now, dyed in a gas station in texas before crossing the border with his new passport as felix otero. for one year felix is a cook, he likes the stifling heat of kitchens, the weight of a knife in his hand and no blood on the other end. he likes spices, the way the cooks yell at each other, at the waiters. he likes the hint of violence without any payout of it. he wishes he could stay, here in the heat, in and out of the kitchen there is something like content.

he steps out of the kitchen one night with maria, a waitress and sees a black car parked a block down, the only car on the street and knows what it means. by morning felix otero disappears. he wishes he had gotten to say goodbye to this person properly.

* * *

on court, off his medication, andrew gets better.

(he learns early on that apathy does not bode well for him. rather, for kevin. short, jagged lines run parallel to twisted scars on kevin’s left hand. “stitches andrew,” riko croons, “kept him safe didn’t you. and i’m the one who has to patch him up, shame.” andrew doesn’t miss a save for three weeks, plays through numb arms to keep kevin safe.)

his cold glare serves as a new face for the team, a personification of the ravens’ aesthetic. his stats sky rocket, bringing him up from the top few college exy level goalies to the very top. every college exy newscaster has andrew minyard’s name on the tip of their tongue. he is in his sophomore year there is already talk of court. it is his sophomore year and there is already talk of the hall of fame.

the perfect court, the first four to be indicted into an exy hall of fame, all under twenty.

_“he’s got a bad attitude problem he’ll have to work on though.”_

he breaks a players arm, without leaving his goal. there is a dent in the ground of breckenbridge school’s exy stadium where he’d slammed his exy racket down. there is a player on a texas team asleep in a hospital bed, where he has been for weeks and will likely stay until the electricity runs out. he is yellow carded so often he should be benched until retirement. he’s never gotten a red card. there’s a smile hidden in his eyes sometimes when he snarls threats through a visor. a future smile, a promise that he will enjoy taking out whoever removes him from kevin’s direct line of sight. or kevin from his direct line of sight.

newscasters across the country sit at the edge of their seats every second he’s in goal, hungry for the next story, the next injury he’ll inflict. viewers at home wait with bated breath too, ready for his next outburst, hoping it’s as disturbingly attractive as it always will be, hoping it knocks the breath out of them when he manages to defend the raven’s title and break the opposing team with barely more than a step, a soft exhale.

ichirou moriyama sits, not at the edge of his seat but something close, at the top of his tower, and watches.

* * *

he is herman prado, in buenos aires and he does not like it. there is too much too close and it feels like it will collapse on him. he is not far enough, still with an appearance similar to felix’s. he barely lasts a month before crossing into europe as hans jakobsen.

* * *

“seventy percent of all my earnings.” the pen weighs heavy in his hand. the new moriyama’s gaze is heavier. he doesn’t reply, but andrew wasn’t really asking anyway. “what if i don’t sign it?”

“then you are a liability.”

“you’d kill me?” he says it half like he wants them to, and half like he wants them to try.

“you are an investment first.”

“then i propose an alternative.”

because exy is not as fulfilling as kevin seemed to think it is. not for andrew. but this? it could be at least something he hates.

* * *

the following monday andrew minyard kills himself.

on tuesday he sends kevin and riko each a note

_i don’t break my promises._

* * *

northern norway is beautiful, he thinks.

he thinks more that it is convenient. hard to reach, and when he is there it is light, there are no dark corners for him to get trapped in and he can tape trash bags over his windows and his residence will look no different than his neighbours.

it is quiet, and it is peace, and it is cold.

he has the thought that his blood would be jarring in this landscape, on this much unsoiled snow. he thinks of having to burn his mother’s body here, the heat from that flame.

 

* * *

for the first year andrew runs errands. he drives fast, along the edge of terrifying and safe. he knows how to drive to disorient the person tied up in his trunk, he knows how to evade police, he knows how to keep one hand on the steering wheel and when clutched to a gun. he knows how to come back home at the end of drives.

rather, he knows which home is important to come back to, and so the second year andrew remembers what it is like to feel satisfaction again, finally, in the form of blood smeared across his knuckles.

* * *

by the time kevin is graduating andrew is no longer number four, he is number two, in a completely different kind of empire.

the week before kevin’s final game andrew sends him another note, the second one in three years, and it says _would you like to be number one?_

the ravens win, this is not a surprise, and riko and kevin are invited to the tower. standing at the window, watching the shutting down of the stadium ichirou twirls a small usb key between his fingers. in a leather chair in the corner sits the butcher of baltimore.

(andrew is not a fan of his methods, too self serving.)

no one looks up when the king enters the room, head held higher than he deserves. the butchers eyes trace a sharp line across the proud stretch of flesh, and andrew’s eyes trace kevin’s form, shaking hands shoved in pockets, jaw clenched tight, muscles wound tight in fear. one tug in the right place will snap him.

ichirou tells riko to sit down, and the small twitch in his wrist says he does not like the couch riko chose to sit on, but says nothing. andrew pointedly drags the projector to face the wall behind the couch the two men are seated on, and stands blank faced and imposing until they move, a two second delay between when riko gets up and when kevin does.

the video starts with a soft rustling, and a sharp metal clang.

it ends with riko’s smile, spattered with blood,

(there is a scene, twenty minutes in, that only three people know the context of. there is a man, handcuffed facedown to a bed, shaking, as a taller man in a lab coat traces fingers down his sides).

ichirou says “we have no room for loose ends riko.” and the butcher rolls out his plastic sheet.

(only one man in the room knows the context of the scene then).

andrew grabs kevins arm as he passes to leave, dismissed with a casual nod of ichirou’s head, and says “you are safe now kevin.”

it will be the last the two of them speak.

the door clicks shut, and andrew’s knife clicks open. lola hides two bodies that night: nathan’s, and her own. only andrew could tell you how.

* * *

hans gets a letter one day, no return address, which reads

_nathaniel, your father is dead. you are not safe. - s.h_

he burns the letter, packs his bags and moves to serbia as nikola gavrilovic.

belgrade was perhaps not the most inconspicuous of cities, but no one chose to live in serbia and so he assumed he’d be safe. in any case, he was tired of the small and cold life he’d gotten accustomed to in norway. there was little work to be found in the city, but living was cheap and no one payed him any mind for wearing outdated clothing.

* * *

andrew is called the butcher of baltimore now, only because he had never bothered to correct anyone about it.

it’s winter (murder is slow in winter) when ichirou says to him “there is a loose end wesninski missed.”

andrew knows, he will be cleaning up after nathan wesninski until he himself is a loose end, but he writes down the address ichirou reads out to him, and books a flight to belgrade. he’ll learn the language on the way.

* * *

he is there a while, longer than he had been anywhere else, and the longer he is there the louder his mother’s voice gets, screaming from the confines of his memory to _leave nathaniel, run, don’t let them catch you. too long nathaniel too long i’ll kill you myself if you don—_

the thought of his mother makes him immensely grateful that the beaches in belgrade resemble no beaches anywhere else.

nikola, despite all odds, makes friends with the people he works with. matija, a brick wall of a man who wears matching tracksuits and faded jeans with contrast stitching and makes strange comments from time to time but always offers nikola a beer during breaks, and danica, a fierce girl who punched matija and nearly broke his nose the first and last time he’d tried to grab her ass. somehow, they’d ended up together. somehow, neil had ended up liking them.

* * *

andrew spends a week tracking his target, though it’s not as much fun as he’d hoped. he’s not sure why he should kill him, he doesn’t seem to be worth the trouble, doesn’t seem to be worth the barest thought. he goes on a run, to work and back home every day. he follows the same schedule, never takes public transit (not that it’s necessary in a city like this), and only twice a week goes to a restaurant, though only for drinks and some sort of barbecued meat (though that doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary).

he usually spends more time learning about his target before carrying out any job, assuring there are no loopholes, but he’d been bored from the second he landed, and he’d like to get it over with so on the eighth day andrew breaks into the man’s apartment (which is significantly harder due to the three locks on the door — andrew would think him paranoid (reasonably) if not for the fact that every door was this way).

* * *

nikola wishes he could blame the length of his time in serbia on them, but he knows the weight of that rests on his shoulders, that he’ll carry the guilt of betraying his mother for the rest of his (evidently short) life. but he is tired, and the combined weight of all his past personalities is overwhelming, and nikola, nathaniel, would like to live in one place forever, safe.

if he can’t have that he will take this city until the blonde man who has been tailing him finally kills him without complaints. he’d outlived both parents, and that was something at least.

* * *

at just past nine o'clock keys rattle outside the doorway and nikola gavrilovic, or nathaniel wesninski, walks in. he drops his bag of groceries and leans back against the door, twisting the main lock four times to lock it behind himself.

“i thought the butcher’s men knew how to be more subtle. i’ve been waiting for a week.”

“eager to die are you wesninski?”

the man shrugs.

if andrew had a need to emote, he would’ve sighed, maybe rolled his eyes. maybe, even, slammed his hand against the table. but he does not need to show this man anything, there is no point in fear, and so he stalks forward, neutral, knife in hand.

“i’d hoped you’d be more fun than this. it took them years to find you. what a shame to throw that away.” nathaniel wesninski opens his mouth to answer, there has to be some smart retort on the tip of his tongue, but all that comes out is a gasp, a cough, and then a slow drip of blood. 

* * *

the butcher of baltimore returns home, bored and exhausted and tries to call his brother for the first time in years. it rings three times, and cuts to his voicemail.

the butcher hangs up, sends ichirou a message and turns his knives inward.

_my contract has expired._


End file.
